Triaa’s Bio

My story is very old. In fact my story started hundreds of years before I was even born. Let me explain that and why I am recording this journal. My name is Triaa Silverflame, and I am the last member of a proud and strong family. At age 10 my mother, father, brothers and sisters were killed by a demon named Xírious. That day all of my extended family was slain also by this beast with no mercy.

This story has to go back farther for you to understand. My fatherís fatherís fatherís father was a great warrior of some fame. He was known for his great heart and great sword, and his ability to use both. His name was Krísian, and his magical sword was named Tíriar, whose powers are only known by rumors in this age. Krísian had a good friend who was a loyal adventuring companion with admirable skills in magic. The name of this friend has been lost over the years, but this tragedy began with these two men. After an adventure which had uncovered a summoning device. They both misjudged its power.

With the mage having decided that he could control whatever he summoned and Krísian having decided he could defeat anything that may break through the mages spells, they decided to use the item. Relic would be the proper word for this device. It is said that the first few summonings went uneventful, but the Relic was just playing with them. One evening they did the normal preparation, the wizard with his intricate spells of protection and Krísian with his sword Tíriar stood ready. Xírious was waiting.

As the summoning began the mage and Krísian were feeling confident, until it began to materialize. Xírious began to appear and they immediately knew the doom of their actions. First it is said the front paws appeared, massive and powerful, they not only appeared but reached right out and crushed two of three small urns that helped the mage focus his protections. Quickly, too quickly the beast fully came to view: the form of a great panther of enormous size, whose flesh was that of lava. Breathing fire and hatred the beast killed the mage before Krísian could react. Krísian came to his senses as the beast turned on him. The battle was recorded as one of the greatest of its age by our people. Through the walls out into the streets of winter snow the battle raged. Many came to Krísianís aide only to be slain by the beast. Some say half of the community was killed that night trying to stop the beast, all the while Krísian fought with everything he had.

The battle went on and on, the beast never tired. It raged through the community and into the woods, Krísian trying to take the battle away from his friends and family. Into the woods and up the hills it continued neither getting an advantage over the other, great paws versus Tíriar, evil soul versus kind heart. It continued.

It could have lasted forever, until Krísian saw his eldest son Tarsil running to his side to help. Knowing his son stood no chance against this beast Krísian had to take a chance to defeat this beast before his son was slain. Feigning a powerful lunge, Krísian reversed Tíriarís direction and spun into a flurry of short slashes at the beasts flank. Many hits struck true, deeply wounding the beast. Sadly the attack was not enough to down the beast and left Krísian with his defenses down. The giant cat struck with power and speed unimaginable. The battle was over; Krísian lay on the ground with seared gashes across his abdomen and back, the latter which showed the severed back bones. Krísian was alive, but dying. Xírious looked into his eyes, as if reading his soul. Without any warning Xírious turned and charged Krísianís son. Minutes later Xírious brought back the body of Krísianís son in his massive jaws. It dropped the son at the fatherís feet, all to see the pain in Krísianís eyes. With all of his physical strength gone, Krísian summoned a force from the greatest depth of his heart as he lifted Tíriar up and single handedly launched it into the great catís eye.

The scream of the cat could be heard for miles. The beast finally freed the sword from its skull and turned back to finish Krísian, but it was too late for the final effort he had given had taken his life too.

It is said by onlookers that remained hiding and watching this battle that the beast then changed forms, to that of a human. Xírious then lifted the Tíriar in his hands and began casting a powerful spell. The spell ended when he thrust the mighty sword deep into what was left of Krísianís chest. Looking over his shoulder and speaking in common, Xírious shouted to the watchers that he knew to be there, that this sword has been cursed, and that only the descendents if any of Krísian may carry it. It will lead them to Xírious when they think they are ready. The powers of the sword have been defeated, and it now carries the mark of Xírious. The beast is said to have bowed once to Krísian in respect to the great battle he had fought, then changed back to his fiery cat form and ran off.

Krísian had a wife, two sons and two daughters that survived that night. The oldest surviving son took the sword and the quest to avenge his father and his people. As did his son after Xírious had slain him many years later. The great cat returned every so often to test the skill and heart of the sword bearer. Each time many good elves died in the attempt to help.

Finally we get back to where I fit into this story. My family was on the picnic, not far from our home. I remember seeing a man walking toward us, and seeing my father pull the Tíriar from its sheath, and hearing the screams the sword makes when it is drawn. I remember the black mist that surrounds Tíriar when it is drawn. I remember my father and brothers, and finally my mother and sisters draw their weapons and attack this man. I remember the awe when it changed form. I ran to my family, trying to join them and not knowing why. I will not reveal here the horrors that I saw next, for it is enough that they haunt me. When the battle was over the beast stood over my crying body and pressed his paw into my chest. To this day I have a great scar from the heat and pressure. Then the beast walked away, only to come back to me and drop Tíriar on my chest. It then spoke to me. It told me that it could never be defeated. It told me it was going to seek the others today, and when the day is over I will be the last one. It mocked me and said to rebuild my family as the others have.

Later that night when some of the remaining villagers found me and took me back to their home, I realized that the beast had kept its word. And my life began its quest. I have not followed the beast advice; I have dedicated myself to learning to fight. I have not followed the family traditions of developing a kind heart, for I will not let this beast take another family member to keep its game going. No, this game will end one way or the other. I have traveled for many years now, trying to learn skills to fight the beast. Trying to find more out about it. Eking out an existence as a hired sword, traveling from place to place. I do not know how long my journey will be, nor how it will end.

I began this journal so that if I fail in my quest, some other may read this and know of the torment the beast has caused. And maybe, they will be better armed with this knowledge to someday kill the beast Xírious.